Fearful Symmetries: The Corona Diaries Vol. 95: Those Darn Republicans Even Have Their Own Street

(mid-June 2023)

(Watch the prelude.)

What I needed after a nice bit of hiking was a beer. And so I headed east to Cornell, the home of the MoonRidge Brewing Co. I could not recall ever having been to Cornell so I'd get a chance to check out a new place in addition to enjoying some muscle relaxant. Swinging into town, I noticed a rather large crane type thingy by the shore of the river. (Cornell lies on the Chippewa River.) On the way out of town I would stop and check out this rusting hulk.

There was a smattering of people there as I stepped inside. It looked very nice. I am used to craft brewery taprooms being industrial chic with exposed duct work and whatnot. Here at MoonRidge, however, an up north aesthetic prevailed with wood everywhere. Cozy and welcoming.

I cannot recall what I drank first – probably a golden ale or whatever the lightest beer they had on offer was. As a last drop of sweat fell from the tip of my nose, I took my first sip and I can tell you it tasted incredibly good.

The brewmaster is apparently quite fond of honey as there were 3 beers that had the sticky sweet stuff in them: a hefeweizen, a brown ale, and another one that might have been a Kölsch. I appreciate it when a brewer has their own niche that takes you off the beaten path instead of just dosing their brews with various combinations of hops that taste like tropical fruit as too many brewers do these days.

In addition to a young couple enjoying lunch, there was a local at the bar holding court. He was middle aged and wearing leather so I assumed that he rode a motorcycle. I chatted with him a bit and found that he was a funny guy. He talked about various and sundry things and would refer to nearby towns and events that transpired down on some local road or other. I told him at one point that I wasn’t from these parts and didn’t know where he was referring to. Obligingly, he explained where such-and-such town was or where the road in question was in relation to Cornell.

But, after continuing his tale for, oh, another 10 seconds, he resorted to his old ways, assuming I had any clue who Harriet from Holcombe was or that I knew anything about a particular farm out on County W.

Nothing like some local color.

After a couple brews, I was suitably refreshed and found that my muscles had stopped aching. I grabbed a six pack so I could sample more MoonRidge at home and headed out.

Cruising around Cornell a bit, I discovered some nice older buildings downtown but I didn't spy any ghost signs. It seemed a very average town - no statues carved out of trees by drunken lumberjacks nor any mutant beavers with two tails stuffed and mounted at a bar. But it does have Brunet Island State Park which lies on the north side of town so I headed over there for a post-beer hike.

I found that there was a .75 mile trail there which was just perfect.

The first stretch was paved but soon it became a dirt trail.

Very pretty. I’d like to explore the park and the adjoining Jean Brunet Woods State Natural Area someday.

Feeling good, I hopped in my car and headed out to Chetek with visions of a shower dancing in my head. As I turned onto a county road, I realized that I had completely forgotten to investigate that crane thingy. Oh well. Next time.

After a shower, I went out in search of a meal. I settled on a bar that had a large menu online. On my way there, I ran into a couple of interesting things.

First, there is an Indian Mound that has survived for hundreds of years and now sits precariously next to a gas station.

Too bad we’re in a drought because that grass doesn’t look so good. Still, it was nice to see that the lumber barons didn’t obliterate all signs of the natives that lived there.

The second thing of note was this street.

I don’t know who had to do what in order to get their street named “Darn Republican” but it is funny.

For reasons I don’t understand, Chetek has no supper clubs. How it ended up bereft of this Wisconsin staple is a mystery worthy of Agatha Christie herself. And so I went to a bar across the street from Lake Chetek. Throwing caution to the wind, I ordered a beer I had never heard of from Earth Rider Brewery up in Superior. It turned out to be one of those trendy IPAs with enough hops to fell a horse. Not my thing. But I drank it anyway and drowned out its hoppy excesses with some spicy Buffalo wings.

I spent the evening doing a little reading and writing.

The next morning I was up early and on the road headed for Trego, about 45 miles to the north. There I was to hike a couple trails that were each about 3 miles long, if I recall correctly. It was still fairly cool when I parked my car at the Trego Nature Trail where I would stroll through the woods and along the Namekagon River.

I canoed the Namekagon 25 or so years ago with a friend. While not exactly in the same league as Lewis & Clark, we did a 75-mile trip over 4 days and I fell in love with the river. For the most part, it was easy paddling. The water was very clear so you could see fish and turtles scatter beneath your paddle as the canoe cut the water. A deer looked down upon us from a short ridge a couple of times. Pure bucolic goodness.

I pulled out my deet and gave myself a bath in it. I was ready to go.

It was very beautiful despite the din of Highway 63 in the background which grew as the morning went on. Every time I stopped to take photographs, I was immediately beset by a large swarm of mosquitoes. Large enough to make an audible and very sinister hum. The threat of exsanguination was real, I tell you. Thankfully, my deet was up to the task and the shroud of blood-suckers stayed a half inch away from my precious skin. It was still eerie, though.

The trail began in the woods but the Namekagon slowly came into view.

And then there she was.

Just so pretty. At the far end of the trail the sound of the highway was extremely faint and was replaced by the sound of flowing water. Perfect.

After a few miles, the hike was over and I drove to the north side of town to my next destination which was the similarly named Trego Lake Trail. It would take me along a stretch of the Namekagon before coming to Trego Lake.

Although it too was gorgeous, the lake bore signs of human activity as it was dotted with docks and slips for boats. Still, another beautiful hike.

At one point, I turned the corner and saw a woodpecker not too far in the distance hanging on the side of the remains of a dead tree. It was very patient and allowed me to take several photographs before heading off into the woods. Of course, none of the pictures turned out to be in focus.

So it goes.

I don’t think I’d ever been to Trego before this trip. Or, if I had, it had been decades and when I was very young. So I cruised around town. Trego is a tiny place – surely less than 1,000 people. It didn't seem to have a downtown but rather a smattering of businesses on frontage roads along the four lanes of Highway 53. However, I did find this really neat ghost sign for Occident Flour.

I find that Occident Flour is not a brand but rather an old timey name for what we now call all-purpose flour. I think the top of the sign was for somebody’s general store and that along the bottom it read “Costs More – Worth It”.

While I found no downtown, I did run across an abandoned church smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood.